


Silhouette

by kronette



Series: Christmas Triad [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Shameless Smut, Top Hannibal Lecter, Top Will Graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-27 05:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17156462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: Set several years after TWOTL. Pretty much nothing except Hannibal and Will in bed, some metaphors, and a lot of sex.





	Silhouette

Hannibal often wondered what their silhouette looked like when they were entangled together. Could the individual be made out, or were they one being with two heads? 

In the dark of the new moon, they would be nothing but shadows moving together. Not until pale moonlight crept through the curtains could distinctions be made: a shoulder, a foot, a hand gripping tightly. Mouths parting like the jaws of the great beast they were. 

Their beast was not always so savage. More often it was gentle, the glide of a hand and the press of lips enough to sate its hunger. 

But their beast did not roam solely in the night, nor did it restrict itself to the bedroom. The couch and chaise had borne its enthusiasm. The hearth laid with blankets and pillows—kneeling once on the bare floor was enough. White-knuckled grips at the edge of the dining room table, the desk and the kitchen island as one of them knelt in worship of the other. Hannibal had once been backed against the dishwasher as Will swallowed him down, only lamenting the ruined sauce for dinner once they had both caught their breath. 

Requests for pleasure were often non-verbal, as a look could convey everything that needed to be said, or for Hannibal, the scent of Will’s arousal carried to him on the air. 

But sometimes, the verbal demand was appreciated the most. “I’d like to bend you over the table and fuck you,” Will casually mentioned one evening as he set down his wine glass. 

The air had been warm all throughout dinner, tinged with the atmosphere of anticipation. Hannibal had patiently waited for Will to break his silence, and now he made Will wait for his answer. He finished slicing his fork into the meringue, let it melt on his tongue, dabbed at his lips with the corner of his napkin, then set it beside his plate. “I’d love to have you for dessert,” he replied, savoring the desire that bloomed in his chest. “Would you like to go first or shall I?”

Will’s heated gaze flicked over the table, a slight frown marring the perfection of his aroused state. “Set the table with items you won’t mind being broken. I want you as the centerpiece.” 

Will alone could rip away Hannibal’s meticulously cultivated control in so few words, and from the triumphant glow that shone from Will’s eyes, he had predicted Hannibal’s reaction and planned accordingly. 

Stalking across the room, Hannibal gripped the side of Will’s neck, forced his head back, and devoured his mouth. Inconvenient clothing was impatiently removed, the lube warmed from Will’s thigh extracted from his pants pocket after a very thorough search. Two glasses and a plate were sacrificed and silverware scattered across the floor, but Will was indeed a most delicious dessert, spiced and tart with just the right amount of sweetness. 

The next evening, Hannibal set the table with himself as the centerpiece in mind. Hannibal’s chest was littered with small scrapes from the leaves and sticks he’d gathered from the yard that Will had pressed him down on, but Hannibal was well-fed and well-filled before they retired for the evening. 

It was right that Will should be the first to know him so intimately. No other would have dared asked, but his Will. _His Will_ was demanding, stubborn, ethereal and had proven himself worthy of such an honor. Had proven himself beyond words, beyond deeds. Beyond measure. 

Tonight the moon was in half phase, luminous behind Will’s head and shadowing his face, but never masking his eyes. Will’s eyes were greedy, constantly seeking his out, always searching and pleading for something he couldn’t name, but Hannibal knew. 

Hannibal knew what it was Will needed, but not how to make it happen. It had been a heart-stopping moment, two years into their sharing a bed. Will was beneath him, eyes wide and seeking, fingers gripping Hannibal’s ass to keep them tightly connected. 

Hannibal’s more disciplined mind had kept his body under relative control, so he could focus on teasing Will’s body with the promise of orgasm. Time lost all meaning when they were sharing such intimacies, but he had been drawing Will to the edge long enough for the moon to abandon the window and inch into the skylight, Sweating, trembling and exhausted beneath him, Will had refused to use his own hand to bring himself relief. The pinched lines around Will’s eyes spoke of his exhaustion and pain, body folded almost double as Hannibal had leaned all his weight on Will and released his hold on his own orgasm. 

That’s when it happened. Will’s body had gone lax; his arms and legs losing their rigidity in their hold on Hannibal’s body. His mouth had gone slack and his eyes drooped to half-closed. Hannibal’s body, helplessly succumbing to his orgasm, had refused to accept any of his demands to check Will’s pulse or lift up an eyelid. 

Abruptly, Will’s face had crumpled in pain and he let loose a sharp, hoarse cry as his orgasm splattered against their chests, the pulses continuing long after Will’s body had nothing left to give.

Hannibal had recovered his voice, though it shook with emotion as he pleaded, “Can you hear me, Will?” cupping Will’s jaw and tilting his head back. Tears had leaked from Will’s tightly closed eyes and his fingers had indented the flesh of Hannibal’s shoulders, but he hadn’t appeared to be consciously aware of anything. 

Just as suddenly as it started, it ended. Will had let out a shuddering, pain-filled moan and weakly pushed at Hannibal’s shoulders, muttering, “Hurts,” with a voice so thick with pain that it had overridden Hannibal’s medical instincts to examine Will and he obeyed. 

He had still been able to see the muscles twitching beneath Will’s skin, an after-effect of the intense orgasm, if that’s what it was. Other than that movement, Will had lain utterly still, drawing in hitched breaths, a touch of pain and fear accompanied his exhales. His lashes had clumped together with tears and a few still slipped down his cheeks. Will’s eyes had been closed to him, his head turned slightly away. 

Cold dread had settled in Hannibal’s chest, his worried gaze scanning the bed for blood as his hand tightened on his oversensitized, softened penis. “Did I injure you?” Only lube and semen had coated his hand, but there were other internal injuries that could occur during sex. 

The smallest of movement at the corner of Will’s mouth—an attempt at a smile. Lashes fluttered and then Will’s eyes had opened, seeking and locking onto his. “We came.” 

Will’s eyes had been glazed in euphoric bliss, a look Hannibal remembered from his days in the ER when heroin addicts were brought in. And then he had understood: Will had been riding the high of both their orgasms. His incredible, powerful imagination had not just connected with Hannibal’s actions and emotions, but had triggered a physical response to Hannibal’s orgasm. 

Hannibal’s astonishment had bled into his whispered, “You experienced my orgasm.” 

Will had blinked at him, his eyes shining with happiness and the strange, new blaze of ecstasy. “I know what you feel when you make love to me. How it frightens you to want so much. You never had that before. You never needed before.” 

Will’s smile had been blinding, sending a sharp ache through the center of Hannibal’s chest. They had never called what they did ‘making love’ — it was sex, achingly beautiful, profoundly moving, sex. Will had touched the hidden, secured core of him and broken the lock, stolen inside and exposed his greatest secret. Sitting beside Will, heart in his throat and more naked than he had ever been in his existence, Hannibal had felt the world disappearing beneath his feet again. 

“We’re the same,” Will had said. “Same fears. Same needs. I’m scared too, but feeling it from you…” Will’s hand had hovered over the damp sheets before lightly touching Hannibal’s fingers. Even that small touch had caused a grimace of pain and Hannibal had tried to draw his hand back, but Will’s cutting look stilled his movements. “Hannibal. Same love.” Will had interlocked their fingers and squeezed, Hannibal biting back his protest at the discomfort that had twisted Will’s features. “Love. You. Too.” 

It had taken every ounce of self-control Hannibal had not to bury himself in Will’s body all over again, so great was his need. His want. His love. “I would give anything to _know_ , how you know,” he had admitted hoarsely. “I have never been envious before, but I would crawl inside your skin and live as you if I could share what you have just experienced.” 

The mindless euphoria that had graced Will’s expression was thinning, darkening to distress. “The air against my skin feel like sandpaper. The sheets like fire, branding me.” 

The physician in Hannibal had pushed to the fore, extracting his hand from Will’s and gently placing it on the bed. “You’ve blown out your pleasure receptors. It could be several more minutes until your body regulates the overload of chemicals.” 

Tears had stood in Will’s eyes, but Hannibal had known they weren’t from the pain, but the knowledge Will had gained from him. “I want to kiss you.” 

Hannibal had leaned over, careful not to touch or breathe too heavily onto Will, but every instinct he possessed wanted to bind Will to him, claim him all over again, and again, until they were no longer two separate people, but one unique, single being. “When your brain has stopped sending mixed signals to your body, you may do to me whatever you desire.” 

Rather than several minutes, Will’s body hadn’t been able to tolerate touch until well into the next day, and his mental exhaustion had lingered for almost two weeks. When Will had taken him to bed to fulfill his promise, it had been with gentle hands and a gentler mouth, drawing out Hannibal’s climax in the most exquisite pleasure. 

He didn’t have Will’s imagination, but Hannibal knew him intimately, had been inside his mind. He sank deeper and deeper into that knowledge with each pleasure shared, until he had convinced himself that what he felt was what Will had experienced. 

Tonight, with the moon in half phase illuminating Will from above, Hannibal’s fingers left white indents on Will’s shoulders, back, hips, ass; always demanding more, demanding _closer_ , his body far greedier than Will’s gaze that never left his. 

It was right that he should breathe in the air that Will shakily exhaled; that he should lick the sweat from Will’s neck and kiss it from his temple. That they would exchange places the next evening and Hannibal would be the one to claim Will, as Will had claimed him. Their silhouetted beast had grown in its hunger, sharper and clearer than the night sky. 

His thighs trembled from their hold around Will’s waist, his fingers ached from their anchor in the flexing muscles of Will’s ass. His eyes stung at the sheer joy of knowing he was allowed to be the singular object of Will’s unrestrained passion. 

“Hannibal.” Will’s broken calling of his name was breathed against his lips, seeing himself reflected in the sheen of tears in Will’s eyes. 

The kiss was not gentle as Will’s others had been, but hard and demanding, almost frantic. Hannibal released one hand from Will’s ass to grip the back of his head, holding Will in place as he surpassed Will’s cruelty, biting and licking until blood welled beneath the skin’s surface. 

The reciprocating teeth in Hannibal’s shoulder shocked him, unleashing his carefully held back orgasm in wave after wave of uncontrollable ecstasy.

The coppery tang of blood slicked his tongue and he drank it greedily, filling his mouth and mind with _Will_ _Will_ _Will_. The jarring slaps of Will’s hips against his ass became punishing and the pained, low groans vibrated down into Hannibal’s lungs, where he held them as long as he could. 

Heady with orgasmic bliss and drowning in the scents of their lovemaking, Hannibal held Will close, pressing their mouths together until Will weakly kissed him back. 

“Tired,” Will sighed, body growing heavier as his head slipped down to Hannibal’s shoulder. 

Hannibal could still feel Will inside him, softening but not separating from him—not yet. The towel Hannibal lay on was wet and growing cold, the sweaty mess between them was growing sticky, but rather than the compulsive need to clean up, Hannibal felt contentment and satisfaction in exhausting his lover. 

“Love seeing you filthy,” Will mumbled as he shifted his torso, smearing the mess even further across Hannibal’s abdomen. “Knowing I did it.” 

Hannibal’s imagination was not as gifted as Will’s, but he’d tried to recreate the images he saw in his mind palace. Pages were littered with fisted hands, strained tendons along the column of a throat, bunched muscles along a bent arm, a thigh pressed back against a torso exposing the curve of an ass, but they remained pieces. The whole remained elusive, the combined force of their joining only a memory to cherish, not to preserve on parchment. 

Until that exact moment, when he saw Will stretched out on top of him, head resting on his shoulder, skin still shining with sweat. Bruises in the shape of fingertips on his ass and along his muscled shoulders, the half-curved red marks of blunt fingernails scattered like freckles across his back. 

Hannibal’s knees, bent and leaning inward as if to shield Will’s nakedness from the rest of the world, or prevent Will from moving away from him. His arm curled around Will’s back, joining in the cage to keep Will near him. His hand still cradling the back of Will’s head, fingers tangled in the sweaty, matted hair. Will’s eyes closed and utterly relaxed, contentment seeping from every pore. Hannibal’s closed as well, his lips slightly parted as his head tilted toward Will’s, the expression harder to name but felt so clearly it burned within him, causing him to involuntarily tighten his hold on the dozing Will. 

“Happy,” Will murmured, lifting up a hand and clumsily trailing his fingers along Hannibal’s jaw. “Good look on you.” 

Hannibal pressed his lips tightly to Will’s forehead as he sketched every detail in his mind palace, their savage beast lulled to sleep. 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> I realized too late that this doesn't have anything to do with Christmas; it was written as a Christmas present for Alix Sinclair. The "Christmas" part of triad was my placeholder and I didn't change it. Oops.


End file.
